


El Fuego En Mí Corázon

by ElloMenoP



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Body Horror, Dissociation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5800222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElloMenoP/pseuds/ElloMenoP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My half of a fic trade! Long before coming to work for TF Industries Engie stumbles across a bright, young mechanic down in Mexico. It starts as an affair, but slowly blossoms into much more. Just as things get serious the bright, young mechanic disappears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	El Fuego En Mí Corázon

The interior of the base was all brand new, the smell of freshly laid concrete still hung in the air, and dry wall dust was piled along the edges of the hallways. Fresh paint still didn’t hide the splatters of blood left behind by the previous teams. Pyro was the first to arrive, and he sat silently in their conference room, a glass wall behind him showed off BLU’s latest investments: rows and rows of sophisticated super computers. He deliberately chose not to face them.

Slowly the rest of his new ‘team’ trickled in. A tall lanky fellow that looked like he both ate and shaved with nails. He pulled out two chairs, sat on one and propped his feet up on the other, then he tipped his hat over his eyes and fell asleep. After that a pair of men walked in, a huge hulking bald guy that looked capable of tearing apart the newly reinforced concrete walls. With him was a tall, broad shouldered handsome man wearing glasses. Neither man said a word as they sat down.

The next to join was a loud mouthed young man hot on the heels of Miss Pauling. He sloppily tripped over his words and ended with a strange proclamation of love for either her, or his own naked form. She brushed him off and dropped her clipboard down and left the room. She wasn’t gone long, her high heels clacking down the hall along with an irritating squeaking. She was pushing a wheeled office chair into the the room, the chair was occupied by a one-eyed man, slumped over, feet dragging on the floor as she struggled to get the chair to the table. Finally the large bald man stood up and simply lifted the one eyed man from the wheeled chair and plopped him down at the table.

Miss Pauling panted a little at her expended effort, nodded to the large man, then looked around and muttered, “They’re late.”

She rushed back out to find whoever ‘they’ were. It was a long time before any one else came back into the room, and when they did Pyro nearly broke down. The next man to join them was a short stout man, goggles around his next and a smudge of motor oil on his cheek. He smiled widely and greeted, “Howdy there, fellas, y’all can call me D-”

“It is against company regulation to release our names.” A smooth voice fell over the room as a tall, lean, man in a suit and mask appeared out of nowhere.

The young man jumped, then shouted to cover his embarrassment, “Hey! The fuck did you come from! You can’t be pullin’ this Houdini shit!”

“I am the Spy, and I will be addressed as such.” The Spy shot a pointed look at the short, stout man before he spoke, “We only go by our class names here.”

The man chuckled sheepishly, “Then I guess I’ll be going by ‘Engineer.’”

They went around the room, declaring their class titles, skipping over the drunken one-eyed man, and wasting next to twenty minutes on the Scout, who found it necessary to list every attribute he had. The Soldier declared himself their superior and demanded to be referred to as ‘Sir.’ Finally they had gotten to Pyro, but he could not speak.

Deep in his chest his heart pounded away, it had to be a dream. He could feel his throat tightening, tears pricking his eyes. It couldn’t be true, this couldn’t be happening, not after so long. The silence went on too long and eventually the Spy spoke up, “I suppose we can assume from your flame-retardant suit you are our professional arsonist.”

On the outside he must have appeared strange, his gas mask hiding any form of emotion or even acknowledgment of the room around him. On the inside he was destroyed. he couldn’t stay like that, with shaking hands and a stomach full of snakes, so it started creeping in. The darkened room slowly took on more colors, bright pinks and yellows, rainbows and happy creatures worked their way in. His new coworkers morphed into adorable baby versions of themselves. Everything got better.

Except _him_ , except Dell. He stayed the same because he was always perfect.

—

“What are you giving me that look for?” Dell asked, resting his hand on his knee.

“ _It’s nothing,_ ” he replied, and tried to distract the man with a kiss.

Dell knew better, he pulled back and grabbed his face between two calloused hands. “I mean it, what’s on your mind?”

“ _They won’t let me pass the border_ ,” he sullenly answered.

“In English, you’re gonna have to get used to speaking in English,” Dell gently chided.

He frowned, brain fumbling for the foreign words. “They’ll find me, they’ll arrest me— and you!”

“Don’t worry about that, darling, I’ve done this run a thousand times—”

“But never with people!”

“Uranium, plutonium, people, parts, there’s no big difference,” Dell joked. “Sides, if we run into trouble we can have ourselves a real Texas style shoot out.”

“ _That’s not funny.”_

“Nothing bad is gonna happen,” Dell insisted, the playfulness still in his voice.

He crossed his arms, unconvinced. Then everything shifted, the tone, Dell’s arm around him, his uneasiness. Dell forced him to look at him, ran his thumbs over his cheeks, trying to sooth his worries.

“I know it ain’t ideal, I’d really rather you ride up front with me instead of hunched down in a trunk, but nothin’ bad is gonna happen, I won’t let it. _I promise_.”

All his apprehension melted it away, his lover could make anything right.

“Now that we’re done with that topic,” the Texan’s hands slid down his body, “let’s get back to you kissin’ me.”

—

“Spy!” Engineer howled and ran back to his sentry. Slowly each member of the new team was acclimating to their new positions, for Engineer that meant the beginning of an irritating rivalry with the enemy Spy. He had no idea how the enemy could have gotten ahold of his blueprints, let alone build a ‘sapper’ that could actually damage his machines. It made what he thought would be an easy job into an unimaginable spike in his blood pressure.

He hauled it back toward his nest, could tell from his control pad that his teleporter was already down and he’d be damned if he would lose all the hard work he’d put into his sentry. With a sneer on his face and his shotgun cocked he skidded to a halt, nearly shooting off the Pyro’s face. If the thing even had a face.

“I, uh, sorry about…” Engineer trailed off, poked his rifle barrel at the charred body of the enemy Spy. He awkwardly thanked the Pyro, “Sure is nice to have the help.”

He never knew how to speak to the mercenary. He wasn’t sure if the masked man could fully understand him, or simply if he didn’t want anything to do with them. He ripped the ‘sapper’ from his sentry, earning a shock. He spend a few minutes looking over the device, eager to tear the thing open and find out exactly how it could render his own machines useless, all the while he could feel eyes boring into him

He turned to find the Pyro still standing there, staring intently through his tinted, black mask. The Texan shifted from foot to foot, patted the Pyro’s arm and repeated himself, “I really ‘preciate, partner.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to do. The arsonist withdrew with a wild jerk, gripping the flamethrower in his hands tighter before running off. The Engineer watched him retreat with a fleeting feeling of guilt.

As the battle raged on, it was harder and harder for Pyro to stay himself.

Engineer’s touch.

It had been so long since he felt the man’s hands on him, even through the thick layers of rubber he could feeling the American’s fingers burning into him. It made him want more things to burn. His vision was betraying him, what he thought was real was masked in rainbows and cotton candy.

Soon he wouldn’t be himself. Soon he’d forget all about Dell’s gentle touch, he could barely remember all the other times they spent together. Even their first time, so many years ago, was a faded memory that Pyro was sure he’d imagined.

—

Dell’s hotel room was a minefield. A literal minefield of hazardous materials. He had come to expect that each step was a roll of the dice, he might get snagged on a barrel of gun powder, or crush a vial of gallium trichloride and end up exploding the sun. Or something like that.

He didn’t know the specifics of what Dell did, but that was apart of the appeal. He was drawn to this mysterious American, wondering what he needed with scrap metal and radioactive materials, and it was well worth the guise of learning English to find out.

He was supposed to only speak English in Dell’s presence, but the man always greeted him in his native tongue.

“ _Hey there, hot rod,_ ” Dell smiled as the young man made his way through the cluttered room. “ _I ordered take out._ ”

His stomach growled before he could respond. “ _Big Texan barbecue?_ ” He pushed aside crumpled blue prints and pencil shavings from the bed. Even though the sheets were messed he could tell that Dell hadn’t slept there.

“ _Oh yeah, my friend, I ordered up a steer._ ” Dell joined him on the bed, flipping open a children’s book. “ _Now how many times I gotta tell you to speak English ‘round me?_ ”

“An thousand time,” He replied in the wanted English, though his tone was playfully sarcastic.

“‘A’ thousand years,” Dell corrected. He inched closer until their thighs were touching. He placed his pointer finger under the paragraph where they stopped during their previous lesson. “Out loud now.”

With a grimace he began, stumbling over words he knew, falling silent on words he didn’t. Dell made him read the whole page, even when he got caught on the word, ‘coincidence’ for five solid minutes. In all honesty, Dell loved the sound of the young Mexican’s voice. The thick accent sounded adorable around foreign words, and in his first language his voice was a romantic song swirling between the Texan’s ears.

“Good, good, keep going,” Dell whispered, swallowing thickly when the man read the word, ‘hard.’

He continued, loosing focus on the story and becoming hyperaware of Dell’s hand around his. His large, thick fingers curled around his slim ones, gently guiding his pointer finger under the words he was supposed to be translating. It was a children’s novel, there was no subtext between the lines, and there was no space between the men for any doubt.

Dell’s face drifted closer, he could feel the American’s stubble scrape against his cheek, his breath heating up his neck. He felt the man’s lips move, struggling with words himself. He wanted to do what Dell did for him when he was at a loss, to supply the translation. He turned his head a fraction to the side, making his lips available.

A jarring knock reverberated in the room, breaking the mood and making both men jump away from the other. Dell immediately reached for the pistol he kept in his belt, and shot him a glance through narrowed eyes. The message was clear, be quiet and let him handle it. Though his heart was pounding, he couldn’t deny the thrill that danced up and down his spine, the image of Dell, gun poised and ready, made his pants feel tight.

Cautiously, Dell peaked out the peephole, and all at once he saw the man relax. Dell chuckled, deep and full of genuine amusement. “It’s just the food.”

With the pistol still ready, Dell ripped open the door, aiming and shouting at the poor, unlucky delivery guy. “ _Drop the food and get out of here! Get! Leave it_!”

On the bed, his shock took the form of a wide, surprised grin. “ _Stop that! Leave him be!”_ He laughed, jumping from the bed and pulling Dell away from the door. Little help that was, the poor delivery guy had scrammed the second he saw the barrel of a gun. “ _You’re crazy!”_

Dell followed the pull on his arm, a dangerous smirk splitting his face. He slammed the door shut, food still out on the step, and reached for his belt buckle. “ _Darlin’, you won’t know crazy until I get you on that bed.”_

A blush crept over his dark cheeks, blossoming between freckles and a shy smile.

—

The team was adjusting, getting into a routine, starting to understand their objective and what it meant to work together. They began to get to know one another, forming friendships, learning the best ways to shut Scout up, learning to never sit next to Heavy at meal times. Learning that it was okay to leave their dishes in the sink, or to poke fun at Demo’s missing eye. But most importantly, they learned to stay the hell away from Pyro.

The guy was a maniac. He was hardly around, but when he was they never knew what to expect. If they were lucky, he stared at them. Creepy blank, black eyes. Whoever they were, they never removed that mask. If they were unlucky, respawn would be working on their off hours, restoring burnt or melted bodies to their original states. The guy was frightening, offsetting, and there were hushed talks about termination.

Either the Pyro didn’t here about these rumors, or didn’t care. He rarely let his unsettling nature keep him from doing what he wanted, and mostly, that was watching the Engineer. He’d keep his distance, ghosting along the outskirts of Engineer’s workshop, hovering around the doorway when Engie was in the common room, prowling around his nests during battles. It didn’t go unnoticed.

Engineer was always kind to the Pyro, mostly because he had no idea what would happen if he wasn’t. Plus, the firebug did a fair bit of spy checking for him and that kind of work couldn’t go unthanked.

“You can come in and watch if ya want!” Engie shouted across the empty lot.

Pyro jumped from his position behind a stack of old crates and barrels. His body language conveyed sheepishness even as he took a step toward the workshop.

Engineer waved him on. “Come on, you can hand me my tools.” He then turned on his heel and walked back into his shop, ultimately leaving the decision up to the masked man. He had already gotten as comfortable as he could, on the metal creeper, wedged beneath an old truck, with oil dripping down onto his face and shirt.

A pair of dust covered boots showed up in the opening between the frame of the truck and the ground. Engineer smiled. “Hand me a—”

A socket wrench appeared in Engineer’s outstretched hand before he could finish. He glanced at the ground beside him and saw Pyro had lined up all the tools he’d need, including a few rags, and to his surprise, a bandaid.

“Guessin’ you know a few things about a few things,” Engie commented. “No surprise seein’ as how you made that flamethrower yourself. You know, I could attach a few rockets to that—”

The was a metallic clanking and then a few ‘tinks’ of metal clinking against metal. Engineer immediately rolled himself out from under the truck.

“Now just cause you know a few things don’t mean you know everything,” he started to scold. He was caught off guard to find Pyro tearing spark plugs and coils from the engine with a kind of practiced ease that he couldn’t disregard. “Where’d you learn that, son?”

It was hard to tell, but it looked like the Pyro took a deep breath and resigned to some fate Engie couldn’t possibly know about. The mercenary placed the blown plugs and rusted coils aside. He stood up straight, advanced toward the Engineer with such determination that it scared the Texan a bit. Though, all he did was turn the man around so he was facing the wall.

“You, uh, want me to stay like this?”

“Mmph.”

It sounded affirmative enough that Engineer agreed. He took in the old wall for some time, while unknowingly, Pyro was facing an internal struggle. The young man focused on the back before him, convinced he’d seen it naked several times, but somehow unsure he’d ever met the man at all. He was afraid. Terrified of what knowing the truth would reveal about himself. His heart was beating a mile a minute, mouth dry, his tinted vision getting blurry and…pastel.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head from side to side. He couldn’t let himself get lost. Not now. He needed to know if Dell was real, if what they had was real. With trembling fingers he reached beneath his suit to the edge of his mask.

He swallowed back bile. So what if Engineer doesn’t recognize him, what if Dell was all made up?

The mask was hard to peel off, he rarely removed it, even when he was alone.

Engineer would just look at him like he had two heads, maybe laugh. That’s not so bad. Even though that thought made his breathing hitch and turn to desperate gasps.

Fresh air breezed over his face, if he could even call it that anymore.

And then he’ll know. He’ll know that he made up another friend and that’s not so bad.

His fear and justification came to ahead, meeting at the point of no return as his shaking voice cracked out, “ _Soy yo._ ”

Engineer turned from the wall, finding himself face to face with a hideous visage. An eye was missing, or maybe still present beneath the flaps of skin. The rest of the skin was discolored, stretched over parts of the face where it was clear that flesh had been burned away. The nose was merely a stub, practically superfluous now that the nasal cavity was exposed. He had no hair aside from a few thin, scraggly pieces that seemed too delicate to last for much longer.

He was ashamed of his initial reaction, and quickly diverted his eyes in what he thought was a polite manner. He still got a glimpse of the Pyro’s slumped shoulders. He licked his lips and tried, “You, uh, you didn’t have to show me if you..ya weren’t comfortable.”

The response was in the most pathetic tone Engineer had ever heard, barely audible.

“You don’t recognize me?”

That got his attention. His eyes shot back to the unmasked man, searching what was left of his face for identifiers. He couldn’t place him, nothing about him seemed familiar.

“I’m sorry, I don’t…I don’t think we met before.”

A pink tongue darted out over scarred lips, followed by resigned nodding. “Okay, that’s okay.”

Pyro took a deep breath, then another, and another. It was all made up. His mind playing tricks on him again, making him see things, remember the wrong things. “ _It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. It’s coping. You’re coping_.”

Engineer had just reached toward his belt for his pistol, afraid the Pyro had lost it. The sudden switch to Spanish made him pause. “What’s that you’re saying?”

Pyro snapped up, backed away. “Nothing.”

“No, no, in Spanish,” Engineer requested, taking a step forward. “Say something in Spanish.”

Pyro’s lips wobbled, confused and scared. “ _Porqué_?”

“Please,” Engineer begged. “ _Por favor_.”

Pyro shook his head. Whatever this was he didn’t like it. He went to put his mask back on, to hide in Pyroland. A fat hand stopped him.

“ _Please, anything_ ,” Engineer pleaded. There was something in Pyro’s voice. “ _Tell me about those spark plugs_.”

Through uneven breaths, Pyro choked out a sentence or two, using a language he hadn’t spoken in too long. He tripped over words that used to come easy to him, tongue slowly remembering the easy rolls of r’s and the gentle rhythm Spanish flowed in.

He didn’t know why but he was crying. He wasn’t sure if it was the look on Engineer’s face, or his hand cupping his cheek, or if it was because Engineer was crying just as much as he was.

“ _Eres tu_ ,” Dell choked out, a smile forcing his tears to reroute around his mouth and down his cheeks.

“ _Soy yo_ ,” he agreed, his hand finding a familiar place on Dell’s hip.

—

“Just my damned luck.” Dell kicked the bumper of his truck in a fit of frustration. He reached for his handkerchief. The Mexican sun was unforgiving, even in the shelter of the small mechanic shop the heat rolled in, draining his energy. He peaked through the dirty glass window of the head mechanic’s office, saw him distracted. He reached for the tool box.

Before he could put a wrench to a nut, a young man came flying out from the office, speaking rapid Spanish and brandishing a crowbar. Dell had a good grasp of the Spanish language, but not like this. Not with words flying like bullets from a machine gun. And not with the speaker waving a crowbar in a very threatening manner.

The head mechanic came rushing out, wrapping his arms around the young man and speaking in a calming manner. “ _Easy! Calm down, compa_.”

The young man was still glaring at Dell, but he lowered the crowbar. He could see the rage still there, boiling under freckles and brown eyes. Slowly, Dell pieced together what the man had been yelling about, and in his best Spanish he told him, “ _Look, hot rod, I get it, you like to do your own work, I’m a working man myself. And I appreciate that you see it as an art form_ ,” he flashed his best charming smile, “ _but how about an exception_?”

The rage boiled over, spilling out of brown eyes in a deadly glare. Whatever work the head mechanic had done calming the younger man had been lost. The crowbar was back up and once again the head mechanic was struggling to restrain his friend.

“ _I’ll send you to hell, gringo_!” Followed by breakneck insults that Dell couldn’t follow. He sounded like a machine gun and, if he could understand, he was certain the words would hurt as much as any bullet.

It was almost romantic.


End file.
